by whitney

You should be forced to take a year off after finishing high school before deciding on a post-secondary path. Seriously, who has time during their last year of high school – in between the study-heavy classes and grad events and extra curricular activities – to just take a moment to consider yourself and think about where you might want to go in life? There are so many different options. What’s the most ideal for you, and what’s the best approach?

I had this terrible feeling that if I didn’t continue right away with SOME sort of schooling, I’d never be able to get myself back into it. I only felt that way because of the expectations others had projected out into the world.

People are so concerned with time. “How many years will it take you to finish your degree?” “Um, aren’t you going to be the oldest person in your grad class?” “And by the time you’re twenty-five years old you will be doing…?” They also spout off bullshit like, “It’s not too late. Go for it.” But that’s not always possible. Also, if you (or some very generous family members) have already put so much money into a certain schooling that would in no way transfer to what you really want to do, don’t you owe it to yourself/them to at least make something out of all that money and time?

When you’re going to school full time it’s hard to put aside a moment to say, “Okay, is this what I want? Will this help me in SOME way?” There’s no time in between classes and bussing and studying and paper-writing and work shifts to have these talks with yourself (although there is time to write blog posts about it, question mark?), but maybe you’re constantly being pelted with “I hate this, make it stop” messages in your brain, and all you know is that whatever this is…it’s not what you really want to be doing.

So now I’m kind of hoping that in my next life there’ll be a nagging voice in the back of my mind that comes out in my last year of high school, poking me and hissing, “Hey. I know what you should do.” And I’ll be all, “What? Who is this?” and the past-life me will be like, “Never you mind, just listen to me.”

If I can actually make this post useful (instead of just using it to stew in my own regrets) spread the word or take this advice: Try to do what you really want to do. Don’t settle. Or if you do, at least make sure it’s for a high-paying job.

(Well, really. If you’re not going to be happy anyway, you might as well be rich.)

If you’ve spent a good day or two in my company, you might notice a habit of mine that I imagine must be unbearably irritating (no, not my need to always to right. And no, not me singing every other sentence): when I’m exhausted and about to give up on consciousness, when I want to make myself laugh, or whenever I’m just in the mood, I revert to complaining and expressing my thoughts in French. “J’ai fatiguée!” I’ll sigh. “J’ai besoin du café,” @whimack will tweet. “Bonjour l’hiver!” I’ll warble. I go on and on and if I were the one hearing/reading with these crude translations, I’d roll my eyes and unfollow @whimack or smack Whitney in the face.

But I’m not trying to be –or successfully come off as— pretentious. I just find French amusing and comforting and, frankly, hilarious. Maybe it’s a regression technique. I was ushered into French immersion two or three months into my grade one year by my normal ol’ English class teacher (okay this is me being pretentious. I was once labelled as “smart”, so let me brag about what a genius six-year-old Whitney was). Just imagine a group of nose-picking, butt-scratching six-year-olds trying to sound out weird words that they’re trying to learn, while simultaneous attempting to grasp their native tongue. I just grew up speaking French, and while I have lost my touch since entering an English high school, I still really enjoy the language. Yeah, I like how it sounds and how it looks written out, but what I like most is how it feels.

It feels like finding out that the French word for “lion” is spelt the exact same way as in English. It feels like performing the Little Red Hen from our French readers in front of my second grade class. It feels like trying to hold awkward conversations with my Quebec exchange partner, small talk that interrupts playing Roller Coaster Tycoon in French (the only interest we had in common). It feels like stumbling through my final concours d’art oratoire, rambling on with no real point, musing about whether ghosts are real or not (I have no recollection of what “facts” or speculations I might have made, but I do remember using a badass font for my printed copy). It feels like delivering a kickass grade seven valedictorian speech on behalf of my class, the longest one out of our three grade seven classes, the only one spoken in French and therefore the one that the majority of the audience – mainly English-speaking students and faculty as well as our parents – could unabashedly admit to not listening to.

It takes me back to a time of innocence. I mean, okay, it’s not like the second I stepped into high school all of my innocence and naivety shed right off of me. I’d argue that I clutched that coat tight around me – much longer than I should have. And maybe that’s part of my problem: I try desperately to enclose the waters of innocence in my cupped hands, feeling it leak through the cracks in my fingers and knowing that one day I’ll be left with only the few drops I’ve managed to trap in the creases of my wrinkly hands.

Of course, I’m just distracting myself from writing an English assignment and job applications, so it’s entirely possible that I’m presently tuned to looking for a deeper meaning in something (and myself) than is actually there.

Vive le français!

Note: Ironically, the word count on this ramble would have been enough for my English assignment, thus allowing me to triumphantly shut my laptop and go to bed.

A Brief Explanation Turned Tangent: The concours d’art oratoire is the dreaded, unless you’re an insane eager loser, speech competition for French immersion students. It literally translates into “what the fuck does this teach?” (Oh, calm down, I’m kidding. It’s actually “these speeches are bullshit”… Okay, fine, it just means “contest of oratory arts”, but that’s nowhere near as accurate a description.) You’re allowed to choose whatever topic you want and then write and memorize a little spiel about it to perform to your class, then (if you’re lucky) the district, and then (if you’re even luckier!) the province. I think. I’m not actually positive if that’s the last step, there might be nationals too. I’ve only ever seen my friend compete in Districts before (two years in a row, may I add. GO ERIN!). I, myself, have never been deemed exemplary enough to make it past classroom presentations – something I was always simultaneously relieved and disappointed by (keep in mind that at this point in my life I wasn’t used to failing at things. Except for not getting the role of Birgitta in the local high school’s production of The Sound of Music. And being denied a solo in my choir the year before. Basically I just sucked at things I was passionate about. What else is new?). This was probably because I chose random and nonsensical topics i.e. homeless people and “Les Fantomes: Vrai ou Faux?” As you can see, even back when I was twelve I didn’t believe that a written piece needed to have a point. I’ve always just liked to ramble.

There are a lot of things I put off doing: homework, leaving my house to catch the bus, writing out narratives that shuffle into my head…although it should be noted that I do get these done. Ee-VEHN-shua-LEE.*

But the daily activity I avoid the most? Falling asleep. I can’t stand it.

For the whole year of grade six (shortly after getting over the nightly stress of ghosts and dead people creeping in to steal me away in my sleep) that was my favourite part of my day. To have the time to just lie in bed in near-complete silence (or maybe to the soothing voice of Jim Dale** lulling me to sleep) and not do anything. I wouldn’t mentally relive my day; there weren’t (usually) burning, existential questions scurrying around my mind; I wouldn’t stay up too late… I would just relax and eventually drift off. I considered my life to be so busy and rushed and I looked forward to being able to go home and literally do nothing.

These days I find myself propped up in the most uncomfortable position against my pillows in bed, my eyelids drooping shut, my mouth beginning to gape open the way it always does the second I drift off to sleep – but I fight it off. I tell myself, “One more episode of 30 Rock…just after I finish straightening my hair…creep one more person’s Facebook page…” (wait, what?) Falling asleep just bores me and doesn’t engage me the way Liz Lemon does.

The nights that I do turn off the light at a decent time, I close my eyes and try. I try to sleep, I try to let go of any thoughts that remain scuttling around my brain or any songs (hah, sucker) that are still lurking in my head. But I can’t. Unless I am totally and completely exhausted and ready to pass out, there will always be one more thought I need to write down, one more song I need to listen to (did you seriously fall for it again?).

Lately I’ve tried to pump myself up for sleep by telling myself that my dreams are going to be awesome and fun (it’s only worked once so far. And my dream was, indeed, awesome). Overall, though, I haven’t had too much success.

There just seems to be so much to DO. I should mention that I greatly value “down time” and so I do consider browsing blogs and reading books for fun and whatnot as doing something. But in addition to keeping up with school work and whatever other activities I involve myself in, there just never seems to be enough time to do everything.

I wish that I didn’t have to sleep. Instead, how nice would it be if the hours between 2am and 7am were considered Self Time (or something not lame) and the norm would be to spend this time on your own in your room, reflecting upon life, or watching a movie, or writing, or singing, or doing whatever you want, but something on your own? It’d be super nice.

*Sorry. That reference is unrelated, super short, and about a minute into the video. But it is one of the best scenes of television I’ve ever seen, and is also one of the most quoted in my house.

**Firstly, I’ll take this moment to point out that this is how I’m able to quote the Harry Potter books so accurately: I used to listen to the audiobooks every night from the age of 8 until way too old. Secondly, this was one of the only videos that YouTube hadn’t taken down of the audiobooks, but OHMYGOD Harry Potter and The Sims? Too good of a chance to pass up.

I’m a pretty independent person. I enjoy do things on my own, I don’t like to be the one to ask for help from others, I relish my alone time (with my Sims)…

But I can’t escape the fact that we live in a social world. I’m a heavy believer in having respect for one another. I don’t care if you like someone or think they’re an idiot, but I think that you need to look at that person, realize that he/she is a human being like you, and respect that he/she has feelings and emotions and a backstory that need to be considered.

(That was super cheesy and sounded not a bit like me, but it is honestly something I believe in. And I repeat: I do not consider liking someone and respecting someone to be the same thing.)

At times, we rely upon one another, and that’s not a sign of weakness. It’s okay to accept a friend’s help with your homework. It’s nice to support a friend in his/her photography/makeup/musical endeavours by giving a virtual thumbs up. Show support for one another. Be there for each other.

You’re not alone in this world, no matter how much you might sometimes wish it.

That’s right. FOR the faint of heart. Because we need some Hallowe’en love too, even if we don’t quite reciprocate (firecrackers and ghost stories? Nope, none of that). Unless the “scary movie” is one that’s satirizing the genre and is full of comedic scenes (ie, the Scream series or The Cabin in the Woods) I will politely say, “Fuck no”. So if you’re like me and can’t even handle watching the trailer for The Woman in Blackat midday in the middle of a crowded school cafeteria, while everyone else is having their Friday the 13th marathons, I hope you can enjoy my top five not-the-least-bit-terrifying Hallowe’en-themed movies and TV episodes.

It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown – I really don’t remember what happens in this. Linus gives some great speech about believing in the Great Pumpkin or something (which was probably a scene written for the Christmas special, but instead regarding Santa Claus, but they decided to go with a religious-tone instead because…Merry Christmas)? In any case, all you really need to know is that Charlie Brown got a rock and it’s the most applicable line from any TV special ever. [note: I give you full permission to skip over the parts where Snoopy is the Red Baron. If Chuck isn’t receiving rocks in lieu of candy, it’s not worth it.]

The Rocky Horror Picture Show– One day I’d like to go to one of those screenings where you throw stuff at the screen or where people perform it in front of the movie. But I don’t really like dressing up, and I feel like if I didn’t people would make fun of me.

Young Frankenstein– “ROLL, ROLL, ROLL IN ZE HAY.” That joke used to fly right over my head. It’s a good thing I’m mature enough for Mel Brooks humour now.

My little cousin had his grade seven “graduation” this past week. And, of course, calling him “little” might come off not only as a lie, but perhaps a tad bit demeaning. After all, myself having a fresh face of twenty years old, there are many people out there who would wheeze through their dentures that some “little lady writes stuff on the Internets” (the elderly having a tendency to add “s” onto the end of words that have never before encountered the letter). Of course, I don’t mean for it to come off as demeaning. It’s just that I’ll always be the protective big cousin– or “cousin-sister”, as he used to inform to his very confused preschool teacher. (Just for the record, we’re not some weirdo hillbilly family with brother-cousin-uncles named John-Billy-Bob or however else they abuse hyphens. We’re just close. But not in a hillbilly way. I’m gonna go ahead and shut up.)

Today my older brother and I were talking about the annoying mannerisms of the early teenager, wondering whether we should tell our cousin to cut that shit out, lest he walk through the doors of his new high school in the Fall and get his ass kicked. Our conversation boiled down to one question:

“Wouldn’t you have appreciated someone telling you what not to do?”

And, honestly, I’m going to have to say “no“.

If someone had told me to not be loud and obnoxious and straight-up annoying…I mean, yes, it would have saved me endless moments of embarrassment, but I would have been so cautious. I would’ve been afraid of saying or doing everything “wrong”. I already have a small trepidation of this, but luckily (?) my inherent blabbering quality barely tips its hat towards this anxiety before chucking hardly-connected sentences out of my mouth. People tend to see this behaviour as me being talkative, rather than socially ill at ease. I like these people. They keep me around for a laugh.

I always got the feeling that those kids in high school who constantly worried about how others saw them, or what they could say to impress people, or what not to say so as to avoid being shunned…they can’t have been enjoying their time, could they? Living in constant fear of being prosecuted for being yourself, like it’s the Second Wizarding World War. How can you start finding out what kind of person you are if you’re always stifling your own thoughts and replacing them with those of others?

I would never suggest that there weren’t times when I kept my mouth shut to ensure I didn’t say something against the norm, but after steadily letting go of that fear I felt more free. It’s entirely possible I was just oblivious to what people might have been saying about me, but I figure most people have better things to talk about. Also to those kids who do sit and judge their peers…get the fuck over yourselves.

The most I will do for my cousin is offer honest, if not clichéd, advice. Surround yourself with good people…get involved…take chances, make mistakes, get messy… anything more than that and I might as well go play The Sims if I want to control someone’s life.

However, if any pimply, punk-ass kid ever sends my cousin come home in tears, I’ll willingly remove myself from my computer chair and take more aggressive involvement.

It’s been so long since I’ve posted here. I’ve put so much pressure on myself to make a decent post, it seems I’ve forgotten that thisis my blog (honestly, you could emphasize either or both words and it’ll probably have an appropriate effect), not an entrance essay to a university. While I have promised to not turn out complete garbage bitch-fest posts, I’m still allowed to be as candid and approach whatever subject matter I want.

I think I’m mostly just worried I’ll come off as a complete airhead dick. I pretty much take the same approach to life: either overcalculating every move, or else babbling and sounding like the very ignorant boob I was afraid of coming off as.